


Muddling Through

by DictionaryWrites



Series: i'm emo over gabriel nbd [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Complicated Relationships, Emotions, First Time, Gabriel Has A Penis (Good Omens), M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Gabriel (Good Omens), Power Dynamics, Sex, Top Gabriel (Good Omens), Unrequited Love, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 17:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “I’ve not— I’ve not done this before either, you know. We’ll rather have to muddle through together.”“Muddle through?” Gabriel repeated, but his hands touched Aziraphale’s, warm, broad, rougher than Aziraphale’s.Aziraphale took them.“Follow me,” Aziraphale said, head rushing, cheeks flushed, his voice the only halfway steady thing about him, and he led Gabriel toward the stairs.





	Muddling Through

It had been… a long time.

Since the Beginning, a lot of time had passed indeed, and Gabriel— He wanted. There was something different about Aziraphale, something that made him different than the other angels, and every time they met, it was different, it was _different_. There was something in Aziraphale: he wasn’t like the other angels, and he wasn’t like Gabriel either. He was…

 _Interesting_.

And over the— Not years, exactly, and not even months, and not even eons, either: time didn’t exist up in Head Office, not like it did out here, on Earth.

Gabriel didn’t _get_ Earth. He didn’t really get humans. He liked having a body, he liked the weight of it, the feeling of the weird two legs and the strange two arms, and one head, and no wings! It was… It was weird, yeah, it was different, but it was an experience, and he had decided he was, broadly, in favour of experiences. He liked experiences. He liked a lot of the experiences that could be experienced on Earth, although it was unfortunate that humans so often had to be involved.

He had gone to the circus once, and that had been a delight, had been _incredible_ ; he had gone swimming, once, in the _ocean_ , and felt the cold water slosh around his shoulders as he swam, and that had been superb; he had thrown a discus, many many years ago, and he had felt the burn in his arms, the _weight_ of it, and that had been good too. They had all been _experiences_ —

And Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was an experience.

He knew he did it wrong. He was sure he did it wrong. He didn’t know how, because he tried, he tried to do it right, he tried to listen to Aziraphale talk, and ask him questions, except Aziraphale so rarely wanted to talk with him, just… He was so _awkward_ with Gabriel, and he smiled, and was polite, but Gabriel was just so certain if he just kept with it, if he just _kept_ with him—

Surely, Aziraphale would relax? Surely, he’d let Gabriel in?

Aziraphale was always polite. It wasn’t that Aziraphale wasn’t polite with him, because Aziraphale was – he was polite, and he smiled, and he answered questions, but it was always… stiff. It was stiff, and awkward, and Gabriel had seen him with others. Not with other angels, because he was even worse with other angels, but he had seen him with humans, and his smiles seemed so _real_ , his eyes seemed so bright, he seemed to relaxed—

And as soon as Gabriel walked in, he stiffened up again.

Most angels had multiple faces, but it was different, when they were like this, in these bipedal bodies with their soft skins, wrapped up in softer clothes: Aziraphale had his other faces, but Gabriel wasn’t allowed to see them. It was like he _hid_ them, and why? Why from him?

Gabriel _liked_ Aziraphale.

He liked him, and he wanted more of him – he was curious in a way the other angels weren’t, and he knew so much about human things, about food (ugh) and drink (double ugh) and magic (wow!) and _music_ (double wow!) and books—

Well, books, frankly, Gabriel couldn’t see the point in.

But all the other stuff…

He held, very tightly in his hand, a flyer. It was a flyer a street urchin had shoved into his hands as he’d moved through the street toward Aziraphale’s shop, which was fine, because it was for a _magic show_. Gabriel was fascinated by magic. He had seen Aziraphale do a trick once, excitedly showing it off to Sandalphon, who had looked on with disinterest, but Gabriel had been delighted – he had made a card _disappear_! From his hand!

And according to Aziraphale, it wasn’t real magic at all, but was just… the movement of his hands. Wasn’t that amazing? These bodies were so interesting, so constrained by their physicality, but still so _cool_ , that they could do these physical things, move fast, be strong, do such tricks…

Gabriel liked it.

And Aziraphale liked it too. He knew he did, he _knew_ he did, and if he just got Aziraphale to _see_ , to see that Gabriel saw that he saw it, to see that Gabriel noticed, that he didn’t have to be polite, that they could…

Yes.

Yes, it would work. Gabriel wanted it to work. He _wanted_. He wanted to be close to Aziraphale and touch his shoulders and his clothes, and he wanted to see Aziraphale’s real faces that he kept locked away, see his real smiles and the real crinkle of the skin around his eyes, and hear him laugh… He wanted Aziraphale to _talk_ to him. To _tell_ him things.

No one ever did that. No one ever told him—

Well, Sandalphon told him things. And Michael. And— But they never said things like Aziraphale said them. They all told him _facts_ , but Aziraphale, he talked about feelings. Gabriel liked feelings. He liked them, and he wanted _more_.

He didn’t expect the door to Aziraphale’s shop to be locked, and subsequently, it wasn’t, although Aziraphale wasn’t home. Home… Yes, but it was his home, wasn’t it? In a way. Not like Heaven was his home, but like his _real_ home, but he lived down here, he lived in a boy, he even _ate_.

Eating…

The concept was _gross_.

But Aziraphale—

If he could just get close enough, Aziraphale would like him. Gabriel was certain of it. _Everybody_ liked him – he was likable! His body was handsome, and he was in charge, and he knew things, and he dressed well, and he liked Aziraphale. And that, that was enough. He just needed Aziraphale to—

To _see_ it.

He looked down at the flyer in his hands.

It was good to experience things together. That would be enough.

\--

Aziraphale wasn’t going to cry.

He was an angel. He was an angel of ethereal station and purpose, no matter where he was and no matter what sort of body he was in, and he wasn’t going to cry. He certainly wasn’t going to cry over a rotten old demon who had the— the _gall_ to quarrel with him, all because Aziraphale wouldn’t happily loan him the keys to his own certain destruction—

The horror of it.

He could scarcely cease the awful torrent of visions that assaulted his waking senses: Crowley, allowing just a droplet of the stuff to mar his handsome skin, Crowley, screaming, yelling, throat run ragged with the volume and the horror of it, Crowley, not merely dying, but _exterminated_ , deleted, eradicated most entirely.

Aziraphale sniffled, and drew a handkerchief from his pocket, daubing delicately at the corners of his eyes.

 _Holy water!_ Of all the blasted things to ask for…

Well. No, no more of it, now. He would not _fraternise_ any longer. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea. He’d do his miracles, and settle in his shop, and that… that would be that. And he never was really lonely, was he, without Crowley? What did he want of the foul fiend anyway?

Crowley, drowning. Crowley, steaming, screaming, melting, Crowley—

He wished he could distract himself, wished he could stop his body’s fierce tirade, and he tried to think of Crowley somewhere else, but the Old Thoughts, The Worst Of Them, came back to him instead.

Not Crowley, drowning: Crowley, leaning on a doorframe, reaching out and touching under Aziraphale’s chin and crooning, “Hello, angel.”

Crowley, smirking, sauntering close, holding Aziraphale by the hips, leaning in to kiss him. Crowley’s lips against Aziraphale’s, warm and soft – would they be soft? Lips would be soft, he thought. He’d never tried any, but—

Well.

He wouldn’t, now, would he?

This was the end of it. The end of it, of this fraternisation, because to do… to do anymore would be to give in to Crowley’s utter madness, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it, the risk in it. No. No, no, no…

He opened the door to the shop, finding it unlocked, and saw Gabriel leaning against his desk.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, and closed the door behind him. Raising his voice, and trying to eliminate the crying thickness he heard in his cracking tones, he said, “Ah, Gabriel. How might I help you?”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, and as was his custom, came far closer than he needed to, and Aziraphale leaned back slightly as Gabriel came right up against him, crowding him against a bookshelf. He reminded Aziraphale, in some ways, of certain of the popular dog breeds – great, lumbering beasts unaware of their own size and strength, unaware, in truth, of the way they towered over their compatriots.

Gabriel leaned right into him, far too close, far closer than he needed to, and he _smiled_. It was such an infuriating smile – Gabriel’s smiles were some of the most annoying of all, perhaps because he meant each and every one of them so entirely. They were not smiled for politeness’ sake. He was truly _that_ cheerful, and _that_ upbeat, and that determined that everyone else ought meet his level of enthusiasm…

Gabriel had never really, to Aziraphale’s awareness, grown used to being constrained to a human body, for his enthusiasm blinded him to the subtleties of it. Warmth radiated from his body, broad and strong and muscular, and when Aziraphale inhaled, he smelt the blank ozone scent of wing oil and high skies and Heaven. It was a nice smile, and yet he couldn’t help but feel it would be nicer, with a hint of petrol, and leather, and sulphur.

Smiling politely and hoping Gabriel would not linger for too long, he repeated himself, “How might I help you?”

“There’s a magic show,” Gabriel said, holding out a crumpled pamphlet. Aziraphale looked at it, and he realized, with a sinking sensation, that this was more of Gabriel’s attempts to _socialise_ with him. It was the same every time, every _time_ , coming upon him when Aziraphale was alone, insinuating himself into Aziraphale’s space, asking strange questions, trying to finagle his way into Aziraphale’s plans, or invite him places—

It was infuriating. Gabriel was so… _Unbearable_. So upbeat about everything, always too enthusiastic, always so loud, and so _big_ , he was so awfully big. He was handsome, yes, and Aziraphale knew that he, like Aziraphale, saw the benefit in being at least a little human, somewhat bound to the physical plain, but he was still… _Gabriel_.

He rather got on Aziraphale’s last nerve, and on a day like today, on the verge of tears, his mind full to the brim with visions of Crowley in torment, it was much too much.

“You want directions?” Aziraphale attempted, trying to make his smile the sweetest and least threatening he could muster.

“I want you to come with me,” Gabriel said.

“Is that—” _Is that an order?_ , he almost asked, but that was too rude, and he couldn’t be rude, not to Gabriel, he couldn’t lose his temper. Gabriel was his superior, after all. Gabriel would be furious, if he knew about Crowley, if he knew, if he knew… He _was_ broad. Aziraphale was aware of the breadth of his chest as it rose and fell, right in front of him, ever so close… “I— Oh, Gabriel, I really can’t…”

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked, and his voice was so soft and low that for just a moment, Aziraphale very neatly forgot who he was.

This was his boss. This was… This was _Gabriel_. Gabriel, the commander, the Archangel, to whom Aziraphale was subordinate. Gabriel, the fool who couldn’t tell two humans apart and couldn’t read more than two sentences at a time before he grew bored, who had once enthused about the Olympics to Aziraphale for twenty-seven minutes before Aziraphale had looked up from his book and realized he was there, and talking.

Unbearable Gabriel. Unbearable, infuriating, annoying Gabriel.

“Did you come here for me?” Aziraphale asked, in a very small voice. He couldn’t quite believe what he was saying: there was a rush in his ears, and he wondered if he was mad, for _acknowledging_ it, when for a great many years, politely sidestepping Gabriel’s awkward ministrations had sufficed quite well indeed, but he needed—

He needed the _distraction_.

His blood was roaring in his ears, although it certainly didn’t need to, and he felt dizzy.

“Well, duh,” Gabriel said, with the bluster he did when he thought someone was second-guessing him. “No one else—”

“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale said, a little more tersely than he meant to, his voice quavering, and he put out two shaking hands. No fraternising with the enemy. No kissing the enemy, no thinking about the enemy, no… No. But Gabriel wasn’t the enemy, Gabriel was— _Gabriel_ was… “But did you— I mean to say, did you come here for me?”

The shaking hands touched against Gabriel’s chest, which was unshaking, and was as solid as ever.

“I wanted an experience,” Gabriel said, in that beatific way he had: so blunt, so _simple_. He was so dashed simple – it was _insufferable_ , how simple he was, how nothing seemed to worry him, and yet, that… That was rather what he needed, right now, wasn’t it? Simple. Simple, stupid Gabriel.

“I’ll give you one,” Aziraphale said softly.

“But the mag—”

“Not magic,” Aziraphale said, and it seemed to him that his own voice sounded dreamy, not quite tethered down to reality. But then, reality had all manner of inconvenient things, like charming hereditary enemies that made one doubt one’s place in the universe – he was rather keen to cut ties with reality, for the time being, until it decided to be a little less unkind. “I’ve not— I’ve not done this before either, you know. We’ll rather have to muddle through together.”

“Muddle through?” Gabriel repeated, but his hands touched Aziraphale’s, warm, broad, rougher than Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale took them.

“Follow me,” Aziraphale said, head rushing, cheeks flushed, his voice the only halfway steady thing about him, and he led Gabriel toward the stairs.

\--

For the first time in eternity, Gabriel tasted.

Consumption of foodstuffs, that was weird, that was still creepy, but this… He dragged his fingers more completely through Aziraphale’s hair – it was softer than Gabriel’s hair, and a little longer, and _curly_ – and adjusted the position of his mouth on Aziraphale’s neck, kissing it, letting his tongue dart out and—

 _Yes_.

He tasted of _salt_ , because there was a thin sheen of sweat on his body, and Gabriel tasted the salt, the skin, the dusky taste of Aziraphale himself, of what all angels smelled like, of Heaven and wing oil and open air, but also of _paper_ , parchmenty and lingering on him… Aziraphale sighed softly, and Gabriel, bolstered by this response, kept going, kissed lower, lower.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s chest, inhaling. This, _this_ was an experience. Gabriel’s thighs ached a little, but his body was worked up, his heart beating faster, skin flush – it was exercise, that much was true, but it was different than even contact sports he’d done before, and he wanted more of it.

And Aziraphale! Aziraphale, who _hated_ exercise, he seemed to be doing okay at this, never even asked for a breather or a break, and he kept… He kept making _noises_. He moaned, and gasped, and once or twice he laughed against Gabriel’s mouth in a way that made Gabriel feel _giddy_.

“You can _stop_ , you know,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, but it wasn’t like usual, it wasn’t his usual polite insistences – his fingers pressed against Gabriel’s shoulders, against his back, pressed _in_ , and his hands were so warm… Gabriel liked clothes, he liked clothes, but he liked this, too, he liked being _naked_ , and he liked his body against Aziraphale’s, liked how his body felt. He liked Aziraphale’s _skin_ , which was soft and dusted with blond hair all over, liked his soft belly and his soft chest, liked his _thighs_ …

“Don’t wanna stop,” Gabriel said, trying to remember how Aziraphale had lined him up before, but it was different, like this. Before, Aziraphale had pushed him on his back, had straddled him, and now they were the other way around, and he couldn’t crane his head back enough to look between Aziraphale’s legs to see. “Wanna do this forever.”

“Forever?” Aziraphale repeated, and then he giggled, in a kind of flushed, hysterical way, and Gabriel felt… _warmth_. Happy, delighted warmth, even more so when Aziraphale spread his legs a little wider and pulled Gabriel back between them, guided him in and it was _wet_ , wet and tight and _smooth_ , and Gabriel grunted as he thrust forward. He couldn’t get in quite as deep, like this, but he liked having Aziraphale framed underneath his body, liked having Aziraphale _held_ there.

“I know what they call this,” Gabriel said, to show he wasn’t completely ignorant, and he pressed his fingers into the flesh of Aziraphale’s thighs as he tried to thrust harder, because when he did that, Aziraphale made these hitch-breathed moans that Gabriel wanted to record and inscribe on the inside of his head. He wanted this _always_ , not the actual act, but Aziraphale, just like this, Aziraphale letting Gabriel touch him, hold him, kiss him—

“Oh, well, my d— _ah_ , my dear fellow, I fear, _ah, Gabriel_ , they’ve all sorts of names for it,” Aziraphale mumbled out as best he could, between gasps and soft moans, and then he grabbed at Gabriel and pulled him close, and they were _kissing_ , and yes, yes, Gabriel liked this part, _yes_.

Aziraphale’s mouth was soft, but Gabriel liked how it _opened_ to him, invited him in. He liked the noises it all made – the wet noise of their lips smacking against one another, the rustle of the sheets, the slick shift of Gabriel inside him, the _slap_ of his thighs against Aziraphale’s ass; he liked the way it felt, the tightness, the wetness, the _heat_ , and all this skin to touch and to caress and to hold onto, feeling it under his hands and under his mouth and under his body; he liked the way Aziraphale tasted, the way the parchmenty taste was somehow stronger here, and he smelt Aziraphale’s _cologne_ , sweet and only adding to him, only adding to it all—

“I mean, I know,” Gabriel insisted against his mouth when they pulled their mouths apart. “I’m not— I’m not _stupid_ , you know.”

“Why, I never said you were, dear,” Aziraphale said, and it didn’t sound that convincing even to Gabriel, who began to thrust a little harder, and make Aziraphale’s voice trail off into more moans.

\--

Aziraphale’s mind, for the first time in eternity, was almost entirely blank.

He was floating on a sea of pleasure, hot and all-encompassing, as if he’d been dipped in a hot bath that seeped right under his skin, relaxing his every muscle. The first orgasm, that had been lovely, being drawn up tight and then made to release, like twanging a bowstring, but this one felt less urgent, somehow. The coiling of nerves in his belly, the gathering tension, meandered and rather took its time, and yet was all the more delicious for it, slowly reaching its zenith without any especial rush.

He felt – being as he was feeling charitable – that Gabriel would be rendered quite bearable indeed, were this the context in which they engaged.

He didn’t know that Gabriel’s equipment needed to be _quite_ that— well, _substantial_ , and had said so, but Gabriel had rather insisted, and although the initial preparation required further flexibility than Aziraphale believed he had or wanted to be in possession of, now that proceedings were underway, it was dashed nice.

He wasn’t thinking of _anything_. He was feeling it all – Gabriel, the bed, his own body – but his actual thought process had been thrown quite away, and it was _glorious_. It was superb, stupendous, fantastic—

Gabriel kissed him again, and Aziraphale moaned softly against his lips. It did feel rather clumsy, this bit – he assumed it was the sort of thing one was supposed to improve with practice, but it felt rather pleasant like this, so with _practice_ , he could only imagine—

“They call it _making love_ ,” Gabriel said against his mouth, and Aziraphale choked on air he did not, in the strictest sense, actually need to breathe.

“They do _not_ ,” he blustered, digging his nails into the surprisingly soft flesh at the top of Gabriel’s arse, where it adjoined his square hips. Indignant, desperate fury bloomed in him, and he wished to insist, no, this wasn’t making _love_ , he didn’t even like Gabriel, he wasn’t like— But he wasn’t meant to be _thinking_ about— “This isn’t— This isn’t _that_.”

“What is it, then?” Gabriel asked in his bland, insipidly cheerful way, and then he grazed his teeth down the edge of Aziraphale’s jaw, and his vision went rather white at its edges.

\--

Gabriel watched, feeling lazy and worn-out, as Aziraphale stood from the bed. There was wetness streaked down his quivering thighs, dripping out of him, and Gabriel wondered, in an absent way, how _that_ would taste. That was from his body, more than Aziraphale’s, as well as the oil, how would…?

Aziraphale took a washcloth from the suddenly warm water in his basin, and began to wipe himself down.

“I could do that,” Gabriel said, fingers twitching as he thought about dragging the flannel over Aziraphale’s body, leaving wetness on the skin, seeing it _shine_ in the candlelight. That was an experience he hadn’t had before, that was new—

“No,” Aziraphale said, and Gabriel licked his lips, which felt strangely dry, as he brought the cloth up between his legs, washing off his thighs. He hadn’t kissed that skin, either – did he taste the same all over? “No, I’ve actually, er, dreadfully sorry to do this, but I’ve got a good bit of work to be getting on with.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. “Well, I can help with that, I can just—”

“ _No_ ,” Aziraphale said, in that abruptly impatient way he got, sometimes, and as soon as the note of steel appeared, it disappeared again, replaced by the overly polite smile. A polite smile. Not a real smile, not a giggle, just… The politeness, again. Gabriel felt a sinking sensation in his naked chest, dropping into the pit of his stomach and cooling off the hazy warmth he’d been relaxing under. “No, I, er, need to be getting on with it… alone. You understand, don’t you?”

“Alone?” Gabriel repeated.

“I’ll see you in the office, of course.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. “You want me to go.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, turning his head and glancing at Gabriel, his expression revealing nothing but overly polite hospitality. “If you really _do_ need to stay…” He trailed off. It didn’t sound very inviting.

The contented, happy feeling Gabriel had been basking in, mixed up with the satisfaction, felt like it was dripping down through the soles of his feet and away from him forever. He stood up from the bed, dragging quickly for his clothes, and he felt—

Hot. _Hot_ hot, like he had too much blood in his body, he felt _embarrassed_ , and awkward, and _ashamed_.

Why?

 _Why_?

 _“You let me in,”_ he almost said, “ _you let me get in close, and you laughed, you were smiling, what did I do? What did I do? How did I ruin it? Did I ruin it?”_

 _“Do you like me?”_ he wanted to ask. _“No, I know you don’t like me, at least, I don’t think you do, except that maybe— But everybody likes me, why don’t you like me? What should I do differently? D’you ever feel, Aziraphale, like you’re one of the only guys around that really gets what this whole love thing is about? Everybody talks about it so bluntly, but surely there’s feeling in it, right? You have feelings, like I do? My feelings, do they sound real to you? Because I don’t know if they are.”_

“You never did that before? Not with anybody?” Gabriel asked, as he pulled on his clothes.

Aziraphale focused on washing himself, dragging the cloth over his skin, leaving himself wet and clean underneath, the little hairs damp and flush to his flesh. “No,” he said, slightly archly. “Who else would I perform such an act with?”

“Michael,” Gabriel suggested.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose.

“Sandalphon?”

Aziraphale coughed.

“Uriel?”

“My _dear_ ,” Aziraphale said, somewhat archly. “ _No_.”

“Oh, right,” Gabriel said, shrugging on his jacket. That was… That was a relief, right? Yeah. That was… _He_ was the only one, then. It was just that Aziraphale was busy, or he’d say, he’d _say_ , if there was something, because Aziraphale had let him in! And Gabriel was _good_ , people liked to tell him things. He stepped closer, and Aziraphale inhaled.

“You’re— terribly large, you know,” Aziraphale said. “You can be so intimidating.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be… _intimidating_. Was he that big? He didn’t think so – it was just that Aziraphale was small, small and… Was he intimidating? That just meant _scary_ , and he wasn’t scary, Aziraphale wasn’t scared of him—

He stumbled back, and he looked at Aziraphale’s face, the chin raised, the polite, business-like smile raised like a drawbridge.

“See you,” he said, crisply.

Gabriel felt off-kilter. He didn’t know why, exactly, just that he did, and he wished Aziraphale would just _say_ , just say it, just say it! Say what? He didn't know. But he just. He wished--

“I liked that,” he said, instead.

“Good,” Aziraphale said primly.

Gabriel waited. He waited, desperately, for the  _Me too_ , or the  _We should do it again some time_.

Aziraphale's smile grew, if anything, even  _more_ polite, and it cut to the bone.

And Gabriel left.

\--

 _Making love_.

The two words echoed, unstoppable, on the inside of Aziraphale’s head. _Making love_. With Gabriel! Why, it was laughable, the idea of Gabriel, feeling _love_ , Gabriel, making anything but a stupid comment that showed he couldn’t follow the train of conversation, Gabriel—

No.

No, that was merely _sex_. Rutting, gyrating, physical. Quite— Quite physical.

Making love, that was for…

He looked at his reflection in the basin, and he remembered the last time he was in a church, looking into the font, the smooth, easy surface of it, unbroken. His eyes looked rather red, as if he were on the verge of tears.

Aziraphale sniffled, and rinsed his washcloth.


End file.
